


Lifeblood

by Incy Little Spider (1ncylilspider)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Nightmares, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 07:44:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7524322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1ncylilspider/pseuds/Incy%20Little%20Spider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Junkrat sees a picture of his mother painted on a wall. Sometimes all it takes is a bit of graffiti to trigger all the violent memories from your past that you'd rather forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lifeblood

The outback was far behind them and the big city was barely an hour away. It was growing late though and the duo were too knackered to travel any further. Riding through the charred remains of the suburbs, they chugged across a set of train-tracks and down a narrow street. Junkrat looked up from his blueprints, peering curiously at the abandoned stores on either side of them. At the sound of the engine, other junkers came up to the smashed windows to glower and wave their weapons. Roadhog drove to the end of the street and they found a carpark full of battered cars, bikes and campsites. They parked, booby-trapped the bike and then set off on foot to find anywhere better to set up camp. They’d been wandering down a rubbish-strewn street when suddenly, Junkrat paused in the middle of his endless chattering and turned.

A black and white figure was painted amongst the kaleidoscope of graffiti on the wall. A picture of a barefoot teenage girl with long straggly hair and freckles, wearing a nightie and clutching a bundled up baby to her chest. She was pretty, despite her wall-eyed stare, the scabs around her mouth and the jagged teeth sticking out over her bottom lip. Underneath the picture were the words, _Goodbye Michelle our sweetest belle Michelle._

Roadhog, perturbed by the silence, turned to find Junkrat looking up at the towering building, his eyes fixed on the roof. His hands were shaking, his metal leg tapping against the ground. Roadhog moved to his side and glanced at the black and white picture. He slowly took in her sharp nose, pointy teeth and bad posture. Then he glanced back at Junkrat.

With a start he noticed Roadhog standing by his side. Clearing out his throat, he quickly shot out ahead of him, like he hadn’t been doing anything strange at all. The bodyguard looked back at the picture on the wall, stared at the baby the girl was clutching to her chest. Then he lifted his head to stare at the roof.

“Oi, hurry up!” he heard the younger man call, his voice disarmingly casual. “I ain’t walkin’ around all bloody night, some of us need our beauty sleep y’know!”

He kept his eyes fixed on the strange girl on the wall a few seconds longer. Then silently he followed after him.

* * *

They set up inside the foyer of an old movie theatre. Making a fire with piles of rubbish and old newspapers, Roadhog barely stopped Junkrat from adding what he called “something extra” to make the fire, as he put it “more exciting.” The bodyguard got comfortable, sitting with his back against the counter, making sure he had a good view of all the doors. Junkrat complained that he was starving to death and freezing his nuts off. When that got him no sympathy, he began recapping the day’s mayhem with great enthusiasm. He made his parts much more interesting then Roadhog remembered.

“Night Roadie,” he said after finally talking himself tired.

“G’night Jamie,” he replied. Junkrat flinched. Then he turned away to get comfortable.

The night stretched on in silence. Junkrat was usually out like a light in less than twenty minutes. Tonight it took him an hour to nod off. It was easy to assume Roadhog was asleep behind his mask. Not many knew he hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in twenty years.

He was thinking about the girl painted on the wall. He remembered back in the days when he was Mako, down at the pub, having a drink. A lanky wall-eyed girl had sat at the stool beside him. He’d wondered how the hell someone who looked all of thirteen had gotten into the pub in the first place.

“Hey,” she’d said in a whispery voice. He’d seen the track marks up her arms. The bruises over her legs. The big shadows underneath her amber eyes. Sympathy panged through him. As he’d squinted down at her, she’d put a hand on his knee and scooched in closer. His skin had crawled at once. Getting up, he’d moved across the room away from her. He’d watched as she crawled over to another man, scooting as close to him as she could. The man had leered, putting an arm around her shoulder.

When he’d left, he’d heard her manic laughter echoing behind him. He remembered when he heard that laugh again, years and years later when Mako was gone…

A tiny whimpering sound shook him out of his memories. Junkrat was trembling in his sleep, curled up in on himself.

“Mum?” he sobbed out. “Mummy?”

* * *

In his mind, the curtains across a theatre screen were rolling upwards. She was walking down a dirt and gravel road, the desert flanking her sides, the hot air making her shimmer and warp. He was wrapped in his blanket and tucked up too tight under her chin. He wished he could squirm out of her clammy grip, wanting to know what the sand felt like underneath his feet. He remembered the terrifying thrill when he’d gotten away from her, bounding down the road, squealing and giggling. She’d grabbed him and then burst into tears.

As the sky turned violet and magenta above them, she found an abandoned warehouse for them to sleep in. She kept him in her lap, her bony arms wrapped around him possessively. Her nails dug into his sides hard enough to bring up little droplets of blood. When he woke later that night, she was still awake, rocking endlessly, old tear tracks cutting through the grime over her face.

_He knew deep down it wasn’t just his survival instinct that led him to hire a bodyguard._

The scene crackled and jumped. They were in a sheep station now and he’d crawled away from her as she slept. Lying on his stomach, laughing as ants crawled over his legs. He was drawing a picture through the sand with his finger, a picture of a drooly, one-eyed monster. He was just adding pebbles and twigs to his masterpiece when he saw it.

A magpie pecking for worms, barely a foot away from him. He stared at it with big round eyes. Resting his head on his crossed arms, he watched it forage for food, knowing not to make a single noise or he’d scare his new friend away. He found the quiet, determined way of it strangely soothing. He stared at it for so long, he found himself drifting off.

When he awoke, he was back inside the sheep station by his mother’s side. She was gutting her morning kill with her fingernails and a few wild dogs had gathered around to eat the remains. He looked at the pile of animals; a few snakes, three rats, a kookaburra and a magpie. After she had finished, she stuck them on a long stick to make a spit and began to prepare a fire. He stared at her blood drenched hands and felt hot tears sliding down his cheeks. She looked over as he began to sob.

“Don’t worry kitty,” she said, reaching over to ruffle his hair with a bloody hand. “Breakfast won’t be long.”

_“You’re a veggo too?” he’d said to the older man with excitement. “I thought I was the only one in the whole flamin’ outback! We’re basically twins mate!”_

The film flickered. They were in the proper room in the proper building, in the actual bed. He’d woken up and let out a scream when he saw his mother’s leg smeared with blood. Blinking her eyes blearily, she shushed him at once, pressing his face into the crook of her neck.

“Mum!” he shrieked. “Blud! You die, you die! Blud!”

She blinked again. Putting her hand between her legs, she sniffed her bloody fingers.

“Don’t worry kitty,” she said. “It’s just cunt blood. Not dick blood. Mum tol’ me cunt blood is normal.”

He wiped at his face and said in a trembling voice;

 “W’ass dick blud?”

She reached over and brushed a tear away. Period blood smeared across his cheek, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“It’s when a boy sexes you too hard and makes yer bum or yer cunt bleed,” she said. He burst into a fresh wave of tears.

“Will I get dick blud?” he wailed up at her.

“No,” she said. “Not unless ya my age and its winter and you can’t find anywhere to sleep.”

In his mind the scene skipped again. He was ten and running around, screeching like a hyena in the remains of a playground. He didn’t really want to keep playing. He was waiting for his Nan to call him home. All the other junker kids with parents had been called away and the junker orphans were trying to find their night’s shelter.

 As the hours drew on, he jumped through the hole in the slide, nearly broke his arm when the chains on the swing set came loose and swung upside down by the monkey bars, rust showering down over his little sunburnt body. It was only when he decided to try jumping from the see-saw into the sandpit when disaster struck. He cut his leg open on a broken bottle sticking out of the sand. Rolling around in the pit, he screamed and clutched at his bloody leg as though he’d been shot.

“Noisy kitty,” a whispery voice said. He knew her voice wasn’t real. Around Junkertown, none of the other kids liked to play with him. He was the smelliest, the loudest, the weirdest of them all. So she kept on hanging around.

“Not a kitty!” he told her. “I’m a big scary rat and I’ll bite ya and give ya rabies!”

She floated over to the monkey bars, sitting down cross-legged on top of the rusted metal.

“Ya like that mechanic,” she said. He climbed over to sit across from her. He’d heard this story too many times to count.

“Mechanic?” he asked, even though he was old enough to know who he was now.

“Yeah,” she said. “Lotta ‘em were mad creepy. He was funny but. Made me laugh.”

He tried to move closer, to feel her warmth. He felt nothing but the cold of the night.

“Do I look like him?” he asked.

“No way,” she said. “Not even a bit. He was a ranga hobbit.”

When he was little he hadn’t understood the reference. Now he laughed.

“Yer my mini-me,” she said. “Except for ya eyebrows. The mechanic had massive bloody eyebrows.”

She joined in his giggling, the two sounds identical to each other.

“Why ya wanna be a rat for?” she asked. He just kept giggling, more nervous this time. Her eyes seemed to darken.

“Mum called me that,” she said. “A junkie rat.”

He nodded so hard it looked like he was trying to break his neck.

“I think it’s cool to be a rat! They got big sharp teeth!” he said. When he saw the look on her face, his smile faded.

“Don’t worry. I think Nan’s just old and can’t remember me real name.”

She smiled, showing off her own rotten teeth. She reached out her arms. When he was younger, it used to make him scream, knowing if she picked him up for a hug, he wouldn’t be let down all day. Now he crawled desperately forward. 

“Yer so brave Jamie,” she said as he felt her bony arms envelop him. When he opened his eyes, he was alone, hugging himself on the top of the monkey bars in the dark.

The film jumped back to the proper room in the proper building again. The sound of shrill beeping had shaken him from his sleep. Looking over, he found her side of the bed empty. Never in his life had he woken up alone. A strange, sinking feeling had gone through him as he sat up. There was a faint crackling sound in the distance and panicked shouting. He slid out of his bed and approached the door with his fingers in his mouth. People were running down the corridor for the exits, some clutching their children. An excited little boy raced passed him and shouted with delight, “there’s fire! I wanna see the fire truck!”

“Where my mummy?” he yelled back but the boy was already running away. He heard a stream of hysterical laughter from down the hall. Before he knew what he was doing, he was running towards the familiar sound. In the dining room, doctors and security guards were spread in a semi-circle, fencing in his mum who was huddled in the far corner. The door that led to the kitchen was spewing out black smoke.

“Fuck off!” she sobbed, crawling across the room on her hands and feet. She started throwing anything she could get her hands on at them. Pencils, broken chair legs, cups and plastic cutlery. A window smashed and she grabbed a chunk of broken glass.

“Michelle!” a doctor said. “You’ll still be able to see him!”

“Fuck you!” she said and then laughed again. Her eyes were wet and frantic and she let out a wild scream as she slashed down. Blood gushed from her wrist.

“Bet the junkie bitch has Hep C!” yelled one of security and they all lunged for her. The little boy in the doorway was too terrified to cry out. The last he saw of her was one bloody hand clawing desperately at the air as the guards wrestled her to the ground.

“Jamie!”

The film was burning up as though someone had put a cigarette out right in the middle. The curtains were rolling down. All his other names, the names spat down from his Nan rang through the theatre. _“Scum, whoreson, feral junkie rat…”_

* * *

 

His eyes shot open, his flesh fingers in his mouth. He’d chewed them raw and bloody. A shuddering gasp escaped his lungs and his body shook with badly supressed sobs. He looked around the dark room. The fire had burnt down to its last few crackling embers. Roadhog was still sitting by the counter. Junkrat felt all his tensed muscles uncoil. It was immensely comforting not to wake up alone.

He peered at the bodyguard. As usual, he couldn’t tell whether the older man was watching him or not.

“Oi?” he said. No reply. He went to crawl over, when he realized he had a blanket draped over him. He couldn’t quite remember whether he’d had one the night before.

Waving his hand in front of Roadhog’s face, he got no reaction. This still wasn’t exactly adequate evidence that he was asleep, but Junkrat took it. Wrapping the blanket more tightly around himself, he made his way towards the door. Roadhog’s head turned just slightly to watch him leave but he didn’t make any move to follow.

Crossing the road, he shivered in the cold and made his way towards the graffiti-covered wall. She was still there, waiting for him. He stared at her and she stared back at him, years older now then she’d ever be. He brushed his hand against the painted brick. His gaze drifted up at the top of the building, so high above him. Tried to imagine standing at the edge, looking down, about to take that last step forward.

Roadhog found his shaking figure underneath the portrait of his mother, curled up on the concrete. Looking just like the black and white infant version of himself up on the wall. Hearing his heavy-footed approach, the younger man looked up at him, his face wet, his amber eyes swollen. He wiped his face and tried to turn away. Roadhog bent down and put a hand on one of his blanketed shoulders, felt him tense for a second, then relax.

“C’mback inside,” he said. “Yer’ll freeze ya nuts off out here.”

Junkrat let out a little hitching laugh. After a few seconds, he got up clumsily, limbs stiff with cold, his eyes fixed at his feet. They walked back towards the theatre, Roadhog’s arm around his shoulder, keeping him pressed to his side. A bit too tight. A bit too clammy. A bit too possessive.

Still just perfectly right.


End file.
